


Stay

by BehindTheWardrobe



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Love, Romance, Short, Stay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 08:01:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3970204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BehindTheWardrobe/pseuds/BehindTheWardrobe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So I don't ship this (Dramione all the way!) however I was feeling creative for the first time in a while and I really wanted to experiment with third person as I tend to lean towards first (terrible, I know). A short piece about one late night, a sleepy Granger and something inevitable which looms over both Harry and Hermione.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay

Harry could feel it.

Creeping up on him, as it always did around the time that the mahogany clock struck twelve, signifying that he should by this time be asleep. But he was never asleep. Even after he had tried various charms and tricks, potions and lotions, never once had the blissful blanket of slumber mantled his exhausted form.

It was her fault.

That was the sad truth of it, he knew; it was his own inability to curb his feelings for her, even after six years. Six years of rejection, six years of watching her go about her life, completely oblivious. Six years of yearning for her fawny eyes to finally fall upon him in a different light. And yet not once they had.  
Hermione. His best friend from the beginning - the smart one, the one with bucked teeth and unruly curls of fiery chestnut. The one he dreamed of so often but always and only in his waking hours. The only rest he ever acquired came when he stole away to her room, staying up until the early hours, just laying beside her and listening to her dulcet tones as she rambled away. Eventually, once her soft, whispered words became nothing more than fluttering breaths falling past her supple lips, they would sleep. Harry would sleep deeply, enveloped by her musky, woodland scent flecked with a dash of summer fruits and cinnamon, while Hermione lay beside him, oblivious and totally contented. He was her friend. She knew that, he knew that. They were friends, and that, he concluded, was the problem.  
Yet he couldn't stop himself. Harry knew it was wrong; seeing her act so smitten alongside her ginger companion, seeing her go about her life so happily, and so easily, should not stir a flicker of jealousy inside his chest. It shouldn't cramp his insides with a knot of anxiousness, tinted by a bitter longing. And most certainly, the butterflies which hibernated within him should not be awoken by her presence. Yet they were.

He couldn't stop himself. Even as these thoughts flew through his mind, his bare feet chilled by the stone corridors of the castle, he could not make himself turn around. His mind was racing, urging him to go back and forget all about the soft, peach coloured skin and honey eyes which awaited him only a few paces away. But inside his chest, deep within him, buried away...well, it was a different story. There was something in there - something subtle, yet undeniably powerful which drew him towards Hermione's room.

He rapped quietly against the knotted wood of her doorway, his heart hammering against his rib cage as he half wished she would ignore his desperate tapping. No such luck, thank God.

A slither of warm light fell gently across the gloomy corridor, illuminating a portion of Harry's battered old glasses. Hermione's face was startled; her woodland eyes were wide and shining with surprise, her skin seemingly glowing with a faint blush at having been roused from her rest. She studied her friend for a moment, lips parted ever so slightly and hair falling in cascades down her faintly freckled skin. She looked warm, Harry thought. Far too warm and inviting. Like a bright summers day offered to you in the midst of a winter storm. Hermione was sunshine personified.

'Harry?' she half whispered, half mumbled, her voice hazy from a blanket of sleep. He felt something stir in his stomach at the lazy sounds, but quickly pushed that thought away.

'Did I wake you?' Harry queried, although it was undeniable by this point that he had.

'No, sorry, well yes, but it's fine,' she rushed, gathering her fluffy dressing gown closer to her supple skin and staring around the corridor anxiously. As if anybody else would be wandering through the passageways at this time. 'Did you need something?'

'I-' he fumbled for a decent excuse, wracking his brains before finally drawing short. 'No.'

'Oh.'

The silence between them fell fast and thick, each second which passed weighing heavily on their uncertain shoulders. Harry shifted on his feet, staring down at his pale feet to avoid meeting her perceptive gaze. It felt, when he looked into her eyes, as if all that he was, and all that he ever would be, was laid out before her. Every mistake and every triumph; his whole naked soul displayed for her scrutiny. It was unnerving. It was exciting. She was addictive.

'Do you want to come in?' Hermione muttered, desperate for them to leave the corridor and enter into the safety of her room. Ever since news of You-Know-Who had begun circulating, nowhere had felt safe. Even the familiar confines of Hogwarts.

Harry shrugged, his shoulders sagging in on him uncertainly. 'I can go...'

'Stay.' Her door opened a crack more, and from his position just outside of the frame he could see the lamp which illuminated her bed, casting a soft glow onto the sheets where a dusty hardback lay sprawled out, mid-sentence, no doubt. The thought of being beside her sent a warm shiver up his spine.

Harry took a hesitant step across the threshold, inhaling a deep lungful of air which was thick with her scent. It was even more irresistible than he had ever managed to recall; just the perfect blend of sweet yet sharp yet musky. It made him feel a hope inside of his chest which had, for many months, receded. She made him feel alive.

'I'm sorry to interrupt you,' he said, dark eyes surveying the neat and orderly space she called her own. He had seen it a thousand times before yet never would that number be enough. There was always something else to see - something else utterly Hermione which he could store away in his brain. He wanted to know every part of her, and for that he was inexplicably ashamed, for although it was not the way he wanted things to be, she simply wasn't his to know.

'It's no problem,' Hermione assured him, rearranging her dusty book onto her bedside table with cautious fingers. 'I'd barely dosed off, anyway.'

'Still,' Harry continued. 'I really shouldn't keep messing up your sleeping pattern.'

'As if it weren't already in tatters.'

They both laughed quietly beneath their breath at this; not quite a laugh, but more a forceful wave of air escaping their lips. Hermione's eyes were warm when they finally returned to his; liquid gold, molten and shifting. Harry concluded in that moment that no piece of jewellery you could buy her would ever be good enough - no chain nor pendant could surpass the beauty of her twinkling orbs.

'Would you like a drink?' Hermione ventured, rubbing her hands together and blowing on them, as if to ignite her skin with a flicker of warmth inside the drafty stone walls of the castle. 'I find hot chocolate is the best cure for the cold.'

'Yeah, thanks,' he replied absently, while through his mind ran the devilish thought: not as much of a cure as you. Harry had to shake his head, flinging the treacherous words away from his brain brusquely. He had to stop torturing himself like this.

As the young witch stretched up to her cupboards to reach for a tub of cocoa, Harry settled himself upon her worn sofa. Although he had spent countless hours sprawled upon the soft leather, he still found himself on edge whenever he was in her presence; like every move he made had to be executed with the utmost precision. He rested precariously on the edge of the furniture, eyeing Hermione as she hummed tunelessly beneath her breath. In the warm yellow glow of the lamp, her lips seemed to cast dancing shadows across her golden skin, and he found himself mesmerized as a feral lock of chestnut hair fell across her cheekbone. With a delicate hand she brushed the strand away, reaching upwards into her shock of curls to fasten them into a messy bun. Harry averted his transfixed eyes as she moved towards him with their steaming drinks.

'Thanks,' he said as she settled the mugs onto the table cautiously, rubbing her thumb across the wood to erase a droplet which had eased its way down from the rim. She held the finger up before her molten eyes, staring fixatedly into the glistening drop of chocolate before slipping it into her mouth.

Harry took a deep drink of the steaming liquid; she was right, he found - as the chocolate glided down his throat it seemed to send a wave of warmth along with it. He felt himself relax, sliding deeper into the folds of the sofa. Hermione being Head Girl had some perks - her own dormitory being one of them.

'Harry?' she eventually broached after a moment, her voice decidedly cautious.

'Yes?' he replied, leaving only a short pause in which his discomfort became pronounced.

'Are you...okay?'

Harry considered for a moment. Was he? Was anybody? The simple answer was no; Voldemort was on the rise and attack was imminent...but there was something more than that, he found. Something he had been reluctant to tell her until this evening, when the event loomed disconcertingly close.

'I suppose I'm as okay as anybody is, nowadays,' he finally admitted, eyes falling to the mug grasped tightly between his shaking palms.

'But you're not anybody.' Hermione's voice was imperceptibly quiet, barely a whisper of air discernable no matter how hard you might strain. Her fawny eyes seemed even more molten than usual, as if they had truly taken on a liquid form. Or perhaps, he decided, that was the wall of liquid slowly building behind her delicate lids. 'It's okay if you're not alright.'

'It's not that I'm not...it's just-' Harry trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

There was a lump forming in his windpipe. Like a solid object had been lodged there, preventing the words he had dreaded for so long from escaping him. He was choking on them; trying desperately to spit them out, to dispel them from his system, but they were stuck.

'Harry, it's okay,' she crooned, bringing her tiny, delicate palms up to cup his porcelain cheeks. Her skin felt warm against him - it was like he had been icy cold for an age, yet he never knew until the sunlight finally fell across him once again. Her golden eyes stared intensely into his own; his soul had been torn open once again, but this time he couldn't avert his gaze. She had trapped him, yet encaged in her steely look he never once felt caged. He felt safer than ever. 'It's okay.'

'I can't stay here anymore, Hermione.' Immediately, Harry regretted his words. It was like they sent a spear of ice straight through Hermione's chest; he could see the breath catch in her porcelain throat, that barely there movement where her body recoiled from him, becoming as solid and unresponsive as the ice which had at first penetrated her soul.  
'Hermione,' he begged, voice strangled and weak. He wanted to say more - to beg her to understand, even, but that lump in his throat just caught and caught.

'Don't, Harry...just don't.' Her voice was soft and hollow - lost and empty and echoing through his ears. It rang between them, a church bell signalling the closing of another day, only this time the ebony black sky would never again ascend. 

Harry watched her helplessly as one by one each piece of her facade began to crumble. He saw the faint tremor of her upper lip, the ghost of a tear drop dangling precariously from the pink skin as it tempted fate, quivering with each rugged breath she heaved in and out. He saw her molten eyes allow a drop of their golden liquid to lose its vibrance and roll so slowly, painfully slowly, down her alabaster cheek. Even her freckles seemed more pronounced, like a constellation of stars swirling closer and growing with each second. She was a whole solar system of beauty and he wanted to explore it all. 

Harry was enthralled with her sunshine eyes, that crescent moon smile curling her lips which meant you didn't even have to wonder, you just knew she was smarter than you. Each scar was a new planet waiting to be explored, the elegant planes of her body merely the universe's canvas. 

But he could see his universe collapsing in on itself. 

He waited for a moment, breath still fighting against the bile which was rising in his throat. He felt sick - sick to his stomach, with himself and what he was putting her through. There was nothing he could do; his departure was inevitable, yet he never imagined it would hurt so much.

It hurt. 

A quiet sob finally escaped Hermione's lips - hushed, like the mewl of a newborn kitten, yet lying just beneath was the ferocious roar of a lioness. He knew that - knew her - all too well.  
Harry shifted his weight on the sunken leather sofa, one hand playing with the hem of his shirt as the other extended towards her. He'd always felt like he couldn't touch her. From the moment they met, it was like she was the sun, and he was just a little boy again, feeling the rays burning his skin and wondering what it would be like to touch the sun. He'd always wondered if it was lonely, up there, all alone as the whole world used you so that it could survive. 

'Please...'

'Hermione,' Harry tried again, voice thick with emotion. His hand was so close to her shoulder now - he could practically feel the warmth radiating off her, the supple smoothness of her gentle skin beneath his own. But he wouldn't move that final inch. 

'I just...can we just pretend?' she wondered. 'For tonight, please?'

It wasn't much, but finally her honey glazed eyes met his own again. 

And in that one moment, the universe became Harry's.

Her shoulder slumped back into his extended palm - or was it him who had made that final connection? - and finally he felt the fiery heat he had so craved coursing through his fingertips. It buzzed through every part of him; every cell, every synapse, every heartbeat was working for her.  
But it wasn't enough. 

He had felt the sun but there was so much more; so much space unexplored and just waiting for him. It had been waiting for him, it seemed, all his life.

Neither of them knew how it happened - who started it, who refused to stop. Neither of them cared. 

Harry's fingertips traced the swirling galaxies across her collarbone which became exposed as she shifted her weight beneath him; he linked one star to the next, finding patterns in the madness: an order to his universe.  
Her sunshine eyes followed his every move, chest heaving with the madness of it all, as his hand stroked her fiery chestnut curls, twirling them between his palms like tendrils of the midday sun reaching out to scorch the earth.  
Hermione watched with wonder, with awe, as she realised just how much the boy who lived, her friend, had become a different man before her. It was like a newborn child opening their eyes for the first time; the whole world in a new array of colours and sights and sounds - touch, the most beautiful thing in the world, she thought, especially when it was the pads of his fingers pressing patterns up and down her bare spine. 

Harry's hand traced up from her collarbone, brushing a lock of hair off her dewy cheek before cupping her head between his sturdy hands. Above her, as he was, he felt her heartbeat reverberate through his chest, and suddenly it wasn't just giving her life, it was his life, too. 

His thumb played dot to dot with the stars sweeping beneath her fawny eyes, and played chase with a comet - a translucent pink scar - just above her eyebrow. Their faces were so close that their breath sprinted from their parted lips just to meat one another, mingling in the air between them and creating a cloud of warmth.  
He felt her shiver beneath his touch as his finger strayed just a little too low, catching her upper lip ever so gently with his thumb nail. Hermione sighed, her eyes fluttering softly and her lashes feathering his cheek. Harry considered removing his finger, but found that the crescent moon was just as irresistible as the sun; alluring and entrancing, captivating. 

This was it; his one chance to make the universe his own. To claim each star, every Galaxy, each sun and moon and asteroid and comet, right down to the dust particles hiding in the darkest corners. He hungered for it all: for all of her.

As it always was with them, neither could tell you which one initiated the kiss. All they knew was that suddenly a pair of soft, warm lips hungered to be against their own; a sun wishing to join a moon, to shine alongside each other completely. 

But the moon must die every night so that the sun can show her light.

Little did Harry know the universe had only ever belonged to him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anybody who reads this - I would offer you a celebratory high five but it appears there is a screen between us. This is the first work I have posted on this site so I hope at least somebody out there enjoyed it. Improvements/requests are welcome!  
> \- Ellie xoxo


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